I know people really want to know why I haven’t posted, or dropped EntreCards in the last 2 days, but I’ll tell you anyway. We had severe storms the other morning and thanks to the wonderful wiring we have in this state, phone service was sporadic at my house, which screwed up my DSL. I should be back to normal tomorrow. If, in fact I was ever normal.

I’d also like to thank SwollenPickles.com for this article on image hotlinking-because for the first time in 3 years I caught someone. Read the article on how to prevent this and have a little fun with the idiot. Instead of seeing the image they “think” they’re linking to from my server, they’ll see this:



So the cute puppy dog picture they were linking to has been replaced. Morons.

For starters- the picture isn’t of me. If I looked this hot I wouldn’t be spending my days blogging and watching Real Stories of the Highway Patrol on the Reality Channel. But, this is the only picture I can find that comes close to the color of my hair. Add a few blonde highlights and bam- this is the result of 3, yes 3 different coloring sessions.

I’m surprised I have hair left.

My mom re-colored this morning, again with a dark blonde, after I specifically told her I had already tried it, but it did darken it a little. I no longer look like a push-up head. Going from a very dark brown color to, well, this color was dramatic. I start my midlife crisis and the first thing I do is screw up my hair. I should be dating 21 year old studs who are willing to do odd jobs for sex and beer, but instead I’m conditioning my hair like mad so it won’t fall out or feel like a horse’s tail. I do have a light brown color I could try, but really, who am I trying to impress? Everyone says they like the hair color-but I have a feeling they’re only attempting to appease me. Seriously, if you know me in real life- tell me I look like Carrot Top- I can take it- I also know where all of you live and where you park your vehicles-I have spray paint and I’m not afraid to use it.

Remember those orange sherbet pushups as a kid? You know the kind-on a hot summer’s day your mouth would be covered in orange, as well as your hands and any other part of you that got in the way. Yet you kept pushing the good stuff upwards, by the plastic stick on the bottom. Well, this is what my hair looks like at the moment. Orange and white swirls.

See, once in a while I’ll get a wild hair up my ass and decide to color my own hair. I have this idea in my head that since my mom is a, now retired, beautician, that I am one also-by association. I’ve always believed this fact. I’ve cut my hair, I’ve colored my hair. But it’s the coloring I’ve yet to master. I know how to mix the ingredients- hair coloring is chemistry and I’m quite good at the actual mixing step. The problems arise when I apply the mixture to my hair. It never turns out right.
Last night, or should I say 4 this morning, I’m standing in my bathroom reading the instructions on the bottles my mom had brought over the other day. My first clue should, (and always should be), “For Professional Use Only.” Just because you can stir the concoction in a plastic bowl -doesn’t make you a professional. I apply, and since my hair was so dark, I left it on for 45 minutes. This is the step I screw up every time. How long to leave it on. By the time I rinsed the crap out of my hair I had a nice orangish tint with blonde highlights. Wonderful color if I was a clown. I had nothing else to put on it, so I rummage through all of my purses and my emergency change cup to come up with enough money to go to Wal Mart and buy something-anything that would fix my pushup-colored head. I go in, wearing a hooded-sweatshirt, (with my head in the hood), pajama pants and slippers. Pouring the rain. I make a mad dash to the hair section, find dark blonde and think, “Ok this should do it.” Wrong. I now have, what I am deeming, “champagne, pushup head.”

Thankfully, although she was a bit pissed, my mom is stopping at the beauty supply store to pick up something to cover up my hair faux-pas. If it doesn’t work, I’ll move to Florida and go to clown school. I hear it’s a blast.

Due to the fact my mother has to work today, she gave came over to give me my beloved birthday gift yesterday. Yes, that’s right folks, no more frozen, microwavable meals-I have myself a brand-spankin’ new set of pots and one pan. Red, to match my kitchen, durable, although they certainly aren’t the most expensive brand, (Silverstone, she bought them at WalMart for about $35), but good enough for me.

It’s a little odd, turning 35. I’ve never been one to get excited over presents such as cookware, (hell when I was a kid and unwrapped a box which contained clothes I was disappointed), but I am delighted. It’s too bad I have nothing to actually cook. I could boil some water and pretend, but that isn’t fun. Nope, I’ll wait until I can afford real food- like the pre-cooked chicken I can heat up and some rice.

One of the blogging buddies I met through EntreCard.com, Betshopboy sent me a video e-card as well! It was so sweet of him- ya know why? Because we share the same birthday-year and all. So head over to his site to wish him a happy birthday too. I won’t link to the card itself because, well it’s mine not yours-but it was cute as heck.

On this day, 35 years ago, my mother pushed me through her loins, a little smushy-faced, red-headed baby girl. I know there have been times she wanted to return me for a better model. I can’t find the newborn pic I thought I had of me, so here is me at almost 4:



I was cute, once. Not sure what happened. At any rate, I’m spending my birthday peacefully, napping, watching BBC America and Gunsmoke. Kids- if you’re reading this post- old age isn’t that bad. Sure, tinkling uncontrollably can be embarrassing, but think of it this way- you don’t have to stand in line at concerts just to pee anymore.